Here is a pic of me and Asher with baby Hank. It is not only Hank's debut but the debut of my new hairdo. Baby, this hair's got history.
After high school graduation, I bleached my hair. I had hair to the small of my back and I went to a salon in Portland and they botched it. It was yellow, like butter. I paid $100 and after being there for 8 hours, while the hair dresser ran up and down the street to get other hairdresser's opinions, I still gave the girl a tip.
My mom, always against the idea of me coloring or bleaching my hair, thought it looked terrible. I relinquished my pride and reluctantly agreed. She took me to the hairdresser who did her hair. She cut off a foot and a half of dry, damaged, yellow locks and left me with a platinum boy cut to start college with.
The hair eventually grew into a bob and eventually was shaved off (all but the bangs, into a "Chelsea cut") and then I eventually grew it back, all the way down to my butt. And through it all, I bleached it myself, at home, for $6 with products from Sally's Beauty Supply.
When I decided to let it grow back to natural blonde, I can't remember why. I know I was in a horribly bad relationship that I was in denial about and with his influence I had been dangerously close to cutting myself off from my family. On a visit from Portland to Seattle, my mom took me to her hairdresser and I began the slow transition from platinum to natural, multi-shade blonde. Each time I needed my hair done, my mom would have me visit and we would go to the guy and he would fix me up.
Two years ago, when I met Asher, I had the compulsion to go light again. He met me with natural - all me - blonde hair. On the next trip to NYC I had blonder highlights and by the time he moved here, I was thinking platinum again. He loved that I changed my hair often.
But when I got engaged last year, mom got worried. She and I worked with two hairdressers to return my hair to a light natural-colored blonde. It didn't quite work and it ended up still white on the ends, with darker roots. None of them would put low-lights (darker pieces) in for fear of having it not take.
So after the wedding, I decided I wanted a change. I went to my girl and she gave me both a terrible haircut and color - choppy crazy layers and brownish grey hair, not any color you would frame your face in. I was sad because she didn't listen to A WORD I said about the color or the cut. Everyone at work lied to me, those who didn't lie stayed silent as if no major change had taken place. Until, the VP of the company came in to work. She immediately said, "It is terrible, I'm sending you to my girl. My treat." So I eagerly went to her salon in downtown Seattle and I was transformed. The haircut fixed, to the best of her abilities, and the color made into a darker blonde, more intentional shade.
Over the course of the last week, I became high maintenance. With my new hair, I blow dry, curl, hairspray, apply makeup and shocking lip colors. Asher is overwhelmed. Every time I leave the house without him he says, "now remember you have a husband at home" and slaps my butt. Everyone at work, seriously, like 15 people, were like "wow, I love your new look." Relief. Though I spend at least 20 minutes more on my hair than I did before, I now have a style that can do so many different looks (see the Farrah in the pic above). I found that when you put more effort into your appearance, you actually feel better about yourself (duh). And this look is so much more interesting than the straight, long, white-blonde hair.
A girl can only go through so much related to her hair.
PS. this new haircut would totally look hot platinum -blonde. I am restraining myself.
